


Unacceptable Dress

by Red_Pheasant



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Trans Frank Iero
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-06 22:47:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4239576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Pheasant/pseuds/Red_Pheasant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank feels alone. All he wants is someone to understand, someone who has at least a vague idea of the daily struggles he faces. So when Frank meets Gee at an LGBT youth group he finally gets his wish, and even more happiness than he could ever have hoped for.<br/>What happens, however, when his whole world threatens to crumble, right when he had it all in his hands? [Tags/triggers will be added with updates.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> About a boy with boobs and not enough tattoos, and an almost-girl with a cock and cigarette scars.

Frank was in hell. He had died and plunged straight down into the fiery abyss, just like his snobby English teacher had warned him would happen if he didn’t stop listening to his ‘cult music’ and dressing like a ‘soldier of Satan’. Of course he hadn’t listened to her, just slumped in a seat at the back of the classroom and stared dozily out of the window, and now he was in hell and his mother was going to flip the fuck out.

Not at Frank, of course. Oh no, the poor sod who had it coming to him was Mr Barron, who’d had the nerve to give Frank an after school detention because his uniform was ‘unacceptable’.  
“How the hell is Frank’s uniform unacceptable?” Linda Iero fumed, “There’s no hoodie or wrist bands this time, and the tie is clearly at the conventional length.” Sitting opposite Mr Barron and beside his mother, Frank pulled at the sleeves of his blazer, clearly uncomfortable. He counted the seconds down in his head until his mother burst. Three…

“You see Mrs Iero, the trousers-“ Two…

“Are black and not made of jean material, yes.” One…

“That’s true but it’s summer, and a pretty girl like Francesca should be wearing a formal skirt, not trousers! A men’s cut even less so, it’s very unladylike in this hot weather.”

Boom.

\---

The journey home was awkward, to say the least. Frank stared out of the car window in the aftermath of the explosion, tuning out the grumbled streams of expletives from his mother.  
“That’s the third fucking time this semester that I’ve been called in by Mr Barron about your uniform. Who the hell does he think he is? He can’t just-“

Frank knew his mother only wanted the best for him, he really did. It was just tiring how wound-up she would get over a situation sometimes.

“It’s pointless getting angry, mom. You know he and the other teachers aren’t going to stop, no matter how many times you yell at them.” He rubbed his eyes absently, scowling when he realised he’d smeared his eyeliner across his face.

“Well I won’t put up with this for much longer, Frank. I will make sure you get the respect you deserve from all the teachers, not just a few of them. Honestly, I don’t understand- honey, you look like a raccoon- I don’t understand how the school hasn’t-“ She was off rambling again as they pulled into the drive, so Frank fished out his headphones from his pocket and plugged himself in. Perhaps he’d practice more guitar tonight, pump his veins full of melody until there was no blood or sodding oestrogen left (the music always gave him such a buzz, it was nice to just forget for a while). It would be nice, he thought, to get a little band together and jam in his basement. He could cover the walls with his Monster High blankets for soundproofing, because that would look killer, then use the-

“Frances- Frank- are you even listening to me?” Linda shook her head, taking out her keys. She pressed her shoulder against the door, giving three hard shoves before it gave in and opened. “We need to get this fucking door fixed.” She muttered.

Once inside, Frank kicked off his black school shoes. They thudded against the magnolia wall of the hall, much to his mother’s dismay. He ran upstairs, eager to get away before she started talking again.

“Fuuu-“ Frank threw his beat up rucksack into a corner of his room, “-uuu-“ Slammed his door shut, “-uuuck.” And hurled himself onto his bed. He landed face-down, and decided not to move for a long time.

Why did Mr Barron have to be such a prick? Most of the other teachers were fine with his transition, although not all, but Mr Barron was the one taking it the worst. It was nothing to do with that idiotic gym teacher anyway, so why did he have to take it so personally? Sometimes Frank wished there was another trans kid at school to share his troubles with.

After a while (but not as long as he wanted) Frank sat up. Realising he was still in his ‘unacceptable’ school uniform he scowled, quickly shedding it like an uncomfortable exoskeleton and pulling on a grubby Misfits shirt and black jeans. He felt better already.

“C’mon, Pansy, baby.” Frank grinned, picking up his guitar from where it rested against the foot of his bed. He slung the guitar strap over his shoulder and paused a moment. The thick white strap bit into his shoulder, causing the body of the Les Paul to weigh him down and root his feet. It made him feel secure, grounded. He ran his hand over the cream body, his bitten nails catching the silver holographic letters that read ‘PANSY’. He then slid the plectrum out from where he kept it tucked between the strings, and started to play.

Fingers moved instinctively, hard callouses giving evidence for the dedication and practice. As he played he felt the tension ease from his neck and shoulders, surging down his arms, and streaming out from his finger tips and onto the strings. Frank played fiercely, until all of the anger about Mr Barron, about his school, about his stupid shell of a body, had drained.

Until there was nothing else left pulsing through him but the music.


	2. The Second Chapter

“I’m just saying,” Frank started, tuning the strings on one of the school’s acoustic guitars and swinging his legs where he was perched on a table. “Batman is obviously a better choice. Put Superman in a cage match with him, take away both of their superpowers, and Superman is just your ordinary idiot loser.”

“Okay, but what about putting Batman against Dogwelder? His power is welding dead dogs to people’s faces, so-“

“Ray, you cannot be serious.” Frank said flatly, one eyebrow quirked.

“Legit! He’s a member of Section 8, DC comics. So anyway, if you took away his powers he could still get a dead dog and weld it to someone’s face, which is pretty useless… So not being born with superpowers doesn’t make you any better than the lucky ones who have been.” Ray nodded earnestly, his hair bobbing along enthusiastically, strumming a D on his own acoustic. Frank tried to mimic the chord, wincing when all that came out was a blast of pain.

“Jesus Christ!” He grunted. “I hate these fucking school guitars, stupid piles of junk. Look! Look at the damage those ratty Freshmen did!” He started patting the beaten-up body, whispering loving sentiments to it.

“May I remind you that you’re only one year above them? You’re practically a baby yourself- height included.” Ray ducked to avoid the incoming guitar plectrum, but it got caught in his hair. Frank poked his tongue out at him, squeezing his eyes shut. It reminded Ray very much of his youngest cousin.

“Oh yeah? Well you’re old so… so you’ll shrivel up before me!” He declared childishly.

“I’m older by a year. Besides, you’re the one who has started smoking so don’t talk to me about shrivelling up!” Ray exclaimed, flinging his arms in the air. This caused momentary panic as his guitar was dislodged from his arms and he shrieked, quite ungracefully, then scrambled to snatch it before it hit the floor. Inevitably, all heads turned to stare.

“Was that noise even human?” Frank murmured jokingly, focusing hard on his very interesting black shoelaces. Ray lowered his head, his mass of curly hair falling into his face. Frank could still see the burning red of embarrassment on his cheeks.

Miss Chafer came gliding over swiftly - like some sort of ghost, Frank thought – and stood in front of the pair.

“Are you two alright? How’s your composition coming along?” She smiled gently, seemingly oblivious to Ray’s earlier squawking, which he was grateful for. Miss Chafer was one of those rare types of teacher that actually honestly cared about you. Even if you were the kid at the back of the class who usually blended into the background and went unnoticed, she’d still find time to come over and sit with you to go through the work or even just chat. She was like this really nice, airy mother that everyone wanted but only existed in stories.  
She brushed a stray strand of platinum hair behind her ear. “You two are really good players, I want to hear what you’ve come up with!”

Ray looked up and could see the sympathy in her eyes behind her glasses. She nodded encouragingly, and the colour from his cheeks faded. Then he looked to Frank, who counted them in to play.

 

After double Music was Science, which Frank unfortunately had to suffer without his friend. That was the case in every other class he had, of course, because Ray was only taking Sophomore music to get a better grade than he’d gotten last year (“Ray, a C is good, why did you choose to retake?” “I don’t think you understand how serious I am about music, Frank.”).

Frank was actually really, really terrible at science. He just couldn’t sit still and fidgeted through the entire fifty minutes, much to Mrs Symtax’s distress. The only thing he enjoyed taking part in were the experiments- and Mrs Symtax had a reputation for particularly fiery ones- but he had been banned from doing any sort of work that didn’t involve an exercise book. Ever.

Today was an experiment day, and Frank was stuck at the back of the class with a text book unopened on his desk, rocking back on his chair. The rest of the class were swarmed around the front desk, all babbling excitedly. Suddenly there was a shriek followed by loud hissing - as if Medusa herself had just been set alight in the science lab- and the students all sprung backwards with enthusiastic yells. Through the mass gathering of bodies Frank could see a lilac flame spitting from the test tube.

“And there we have it!” Mrs Symtax hollered over the rowdy class, “The ‘Screaming Jelly Baby’ experiment!” She grinned, lifting the goggles to rest on her head. She rarely removed them from her face completely, and Frank often wondered if the elastic band that held them on was actually superglued to her brittle strawberry blonde hair. The loud ringing of the lunchtime bell shook him from his thoughts and he wasted no time in slinging his rucksack over his shoulder and shooting out the door before the rest of the students.

Frank tried so hard to get to the table where he and Ray usually sat, but Science just happened to be on the other side of the school. Sure enough, hordes of teenagers came bumbling into the hallways. Oh shit, oh shit, was Frank’s reoccurring thought as he struggled to elbow his small self through the throng.

Usually, Frank was very good at not being noticed. He kept to himself, not wanting to lure out the little imp known as trouble. This week though, it had come scurrying Frank’s way to jam itself up his ass and be a fucking pain. First the detention from Mr Barron, and now some 6-ft-terrifying guy yelling; “Watch where you’re going, dyke!” and then elbowing Frank in the neck- which hello? Fucking _hurt_ \- and Frank was shoved into another student, and then another, and everyone kept pushing and knocking into him like dominoes until he was finally ejected from the crowd and straight into the chest of not just any teacher- but the principle. The student horde fell silent. Mrs Forrest coughed, stepped around Frank, and stood by his side with her arms crossed.

“Joshua, I will not- under any circumstances- tolerate that sort of language or behaviour in my school! See me in my office tomorrow lunch else I’ll be phoning home.” She boomed, then looked to Frank and murmured “Come on.” And he followed obediently behind her. He could feel the eyes of the students on his back, probably burning holes in his blazer with their glare.  
Frank tried to focus on something else, determined not to let his anxiety take over. He took to staring at the back of Mrs Forrest’s ghastly green and beige (why beige?) floral dress. It clashed horribly with her tan, he thought, and the constant clack clack of her beige (again, why?) heels were really getting on his nerves. He was thankful that she had stepped in however, because the last thing he needed was a pack of angry teenagers stalking and ravaging him for the next week.

As they walked, the bustling hallways cleared. Students split down the middle and parted, like Mrs Forrest was Moses or something, and finally they reached the main reception. Frank didn't understand why everyone was so fearful of the principle. She was actually a really nice person. Back when Frank first joined the school- before he met Ray- she was the one to welcome him and show him the shortest ways to get to class and to the cafeteria. She was always looking out for him too, especially since he came out. That's why he wasn't worried when Mrs Forrest held the heavy door to her office open for him, and he smiled at her even.

"Good afternoon, Frank. Do sit down." Mrs Forrest gestured to a chair, and she took the one in front of him. That was another thing he liked about Mrs Forrest- there was never a bulky desk between the two. Instead it was pushed to the side. It made the room warmer, made Frank feel like he could trust her more. "I'm sorry you had to run into that spot of trouble back there. I was looking for you, actually." She smiled warmly, mottled brown-rimmed glasses slightly wonky on her face.

Frank absently wondered if Ray would be concerned of his whereabouts by now. As if Ray had suddenly gained mind-reading powers, his phone vibrated with a text. Frank knew it was Ray, because no one else bothered messaging him. Returning to the task at hand, Frank nodded, prompting her to continue.

"When we last spoke, a few weeks ago, I told you I'd do some research into LGBT-specific help groups around here. Do you remember?"

"Of course." Frank remembered alright. He recalled bursting through the front door and bowling into his mom in his excitement, who'd been chopping bell peppers for Frank's favourite veggie lasagne. The peppers scattered all over the floor, so she had to put carrots in instead. It tasted it even better than usual. "Did you manage to find anything?" He couldn't hide the hopefulness in his voice.

Mrs Forrest didn't reply. Instead she leaned over to her desk, grabbed a slip of paper, and handed it to Frank with a smile. Frank looked at the glossy paper in his hands. It was a leaflet. Across the front was the word 'TOPAZ' in bold blue writing.

"TOPAZ is an LGBT youth group for thirteen to twenty-five year olds. They meet every fortnight, and you can bring a friend or family member for the first few sessions if you're nervous about going alone. Their website said it's a place to make new friends and get support. It sounds like something you need." Mrs Forrest explained as Frank flicked through the booklet. His face was glowing and he fumbled when he pulled out his mobile. The principle overlooked it, choosing instead to scoot over to her desk and busy herself with some papers.

As suspected, Frank had one new text from Ray:

_Where r u? Gone to music room btw._

Frank quickly typed a reply:

_With Forrest. Come over to mine tonight, got good news!!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry for the lack of updates! I thought I'd get a lot done over the holiday but I got caught up and busy with family life. I hope you enjoy this chapter, though!
> 
> Another note: I live in Britain, so I'm still adjusting to writing about the American school system. Also, if any of my spelling is different to the American way, that's why.


	3. The Third Chapter

Frank could barely contain himself, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for Ray. He was stood next to the school bus, and waved frantically when he saw the familiar explosion of hair. Ray’s size gave him the advantage of scaring the freshmen out of the way, and he made a beeline for his overexcited friend. As if he even needed guiding – he’d been to Frank’s house so many times he’d have to count on _four_ hands.

“Toro, dude!” Frank launched at his friend, slamming into his shoulder. Ray knew this was just Frank being friendly, showing his affection, but it still made him grunt when the air was knocked from him. 

“Oof, fuck. Hey Frank.” He grinned through the pain, hooking an arm around the shorter boy’s neck and prying him away. 

Now it was Frank’s turn to splutter when Ray squeezed playfully. He let go swiftly, not wanting their friendly wrestling to be mistaken for a serious brawl by any teachers on bus duty. That had happened once, a few months ago, and resulted in Ray getting a week’s detention. Frank tried to protest but their school counselor had stopped listening by that point, busying himself with organising his collection of smiley face stickers instead. So of course, Frank punched Ray, in the face. Without warning. That evened up their detentions (it took a week for Ray to forgive Frank anyway). 

“So, what’s all this hype about anyway? You said you were with the principle at lunch?” Ray questioned, following Frank onto the rumbling bus. Ray flinched each time the rucksack, slung casually across one of Frank’s shoulders, swung dangerously close to his face. 

The pair settled in a seat near the back, Frank ducking as an empty Lucozade bottle rocketed his way. 

“Oi! Watch it, Urie!” Frank barked, rolling his eyes. “God, that kid’s annoying. Anyway yeah, there’s this thing that- _Urie, quit it!_ ” Frank yanked at the pens that were gradually accumulating in Ray’s hair, making the other wince in pain. Frank apologised quietly to his friend before throwing them back at the kid a few seats in front of them, twice as hard. “Seriously, why does Brendon do that? And more importantly, why do you put up with it?” He looked seriously at Ray, who just sighed.

“I dunno. I just ignore it, it doesn’t bother me that much.” He shrugged. 

Frank’s eyes softened. “I bet it’s because he’s jealous of your fucking awesome ‘fro.” He grinned, nudging the other. Then the bus lurched and the engine coughed, and began to slowly trundle down the road. Another empty bottle whizzed past. 

_“Urie!”_

\---

Frank kicked off his shoes the moment he got through the door. “The weekend starts now!” He crowed triumphantly. Ray made an injured noise in the back of his throat as he watched Frank’s shoes leave an ugly black mark against the wall and shuffled to the end of the hall to toe off his own. He put them carefully on the heap of beaten-up trainers and scuffed school shoes, rubbing half-heartedly at the smudge before following his friend into the kitchen. Frank was twirling around clumsily, opening and slamming cupboard doors and drawers until he produced a green packet of crisps. 

“The weekend means it’s shopping night, which also means…” There was a dramatic pause as the packet was opened, “…Mom isn’t home.” He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively as he munched on a crisp. “And you know what _that_ means.” Frank stalked over to Ray, who was staring with a bored expression. Ray watched the same routine every Friday he was over. Frank would step through the door, add another dent to the wall, grab the last packet of cheap crisps and-

He was mouthing the words passively as Frank cried “It’s time to smoke up!”

-Smoke up.

Ray didn’t mind, of course. Frank was actually really fucking funny when he was high, and he always gave Ray a fair amount of time holding the blunt. Ray never took more than four hits, because it was bad enough that the stench clung to his school shirt that he needed to wear _the next day_ , let alone having his breath stink of weed. Plus, his brothers would catch him and totally snitch, the bastards.

“I hear ya.” Ray rolled his eyes but still had a smile on his face as he followed his over-excited friend upstairs. 

Frank’s bedroom was, like always, a bombsite. Clumps of half-worn shirts carved an obstacle course and odd socks littered the floor like deadly mines. Frank trampled over it all, kicking some of it to the sides with a grunt.

“Shit man, sorry. I was gonna tidy up yesterday but I had a bad night.” He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face at the memory. Goddamn Mr Barron.

Ray followed Frank’s freshly-cleared path and sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s fine, I have brothers, remember? I had to share with two of ‘em until last year.” His nose scrunched up at the memory. God, that tiny room had fucking reeked of disgusting underwear- all the time.

Now he thought about it, Frank’s bedroom kinda stank of underwear too, but… it was different. A different stink, one without the eau de sweaty balls. Whatever, it was still a gross smell. He scanned the clothes that were now bordering the room and saw bundles of patterned boxers. One pair had the Batman logo on the crotch, another had tiny guitars dotted all over.

“Your underwear is really cool… mine are just boring greys and purples.” Ray said glumly, pinging the elastic of his own plain boxers. He really needed some cool ones. Maybe they’d start selling Halloween-themed ones soon?

“Oh my god I know what I’m getting you for your birthday.” Ray suddenly beamed, “Speaking of which, are you having a party? I mean you’re turning sixteen- the most looked-forward-to day of a boy’s life!”

Frank crawled out from where he’d been shuffling under the bed, a shoebox under his arm. He looked up at the other skeptically. 

“Okay Mister I-Got-Birthday-Sex, let’s calm it down a bit over there.” He couldn’t help the smug smile on his lips when Ray’s cheeks flushed.

“H-Hey! I never said that!” He exclaimed. The subject had already grown boring to Frank however, because he was now absorbed in rolling a perfect joint, the smile still on his face. He held it aloft like a trophy.

“Perfect!” He grinned triumphantly. It was far from. Ray cut him some slack though, because he knew Frank was new to this stuff, and usually bought his joints pre-rolled.  
Frank sat next to Ray on the bed, snatching the lighter from his bedside table. He shook it, hearing a small, sad slosh. 

“I’m nearly out of lighter fluid again.” He huffed, the flame flickering as it struggled to light the joint. Eventually it did so, and Frank muttered, “I should probably take my binder off. Eh, whatever.” Before inhaling deeply. He groaned happily and held it out to Ray, who was shrugging off his blazer and tucking it under a pillow to try and stop it getting infected with the smell. He willingly plucked it from Frank’s nail-bitten fingers and took a hit himself.

“So Frank, this lunch thing with Mrs Forrest. Care to tell me about it? You seemed super hyped earlier.”


End file.
